Chapter 6
Chapter
When we meet again, I will not waste time on apologies.
I will simply whisk you far away.
Until then.
I am sorry, Miss Sunday.
(Nearly five years ago)
My bare feet slap against the weather-worn parapet as I race across it with little regard for the dizzying drop on either side.
“Slow down!” Riven calls after me.
“And let you win?” My head kicks back in laughter. “Not a chance.”
I will my legs faster, ignoring the burn in my thighs as I lengthen my stride. I know we must be getting close to the tower’s base, but the torrential downpour makes it nearly impossible to see more than a few feet ahead.
“Stop! Miss Sunday!”
Thick wet curls stick to my cheeks as I shake my head, cutting into my already limited visibility. But I don’t let up. Not when I’m at the cusp of winning for the very first time.
“Is that fear I hear, ghost boy?” I pant, using the back of my hand to try and push the dark tendrils from my eyes. “Scared to lose?”
I can almost see it, the winding tower spire piercing the storm swept sky. Just…a…little…far—
“Sunday! No!” Riven shouts just as my foot finds its way into the thorny grasp of a bright blue vine.
Gravity takes me in an instant, leeching the scream from my lungs as the vine pulls me hard against, then over the parapet’s ledge. I scrape and claw for purchase, finding a hold just below the ledge’s lip. My hand lands on another cobalt vine, its thorns digging deep into my palms.
“Hold on! I’m coming!” Riven’s boots echo in the distance. He’s not far, but the blood pooling around my fingers and down my wrists is loosening my grip. To make matters worse, the section of stone securing the vine I grip is crumbling.
It’s not going to hold.
“I’m going to fall.” The words slip through my lips, but my mind can’t seem to make any sense of them.
Maybe that’s a good thing? Maybe my body’s obvious denial of its impending doom means I’ll escape it once more.
I chance a look down. Nope! No, no, no. Below my dangling feet is a three hundred meter drop filled with sharp angles and jagged stones. The castle’s impassable cliffside.
There’s no surviving that.
“I think I’m going to be sick.”
“I’m here. I’m right here, Miss Sunday.”
“Riven.” My chest loosens at the sight of my best friend lying on the ledge above me. His scarred smile spreads thin as he looks for a way to haul me up.
“There! Beside you. Grab hold of that vine,” he orders.
I follow his nod to a vine swinging violently from side to side. I don’t reach for it. I can’t. What if the wind pushes it away as soon as I let go? What if it snaps?
“Eyes on me, Princess.”
Princess? I tear my gaze away from the makeshift rope long enough to flash him my disdain.
“There she is,” he teases, revealing the slightest hint of a smile.
Then the wind picks up and slams my already bruised body into the wall.
“Sunday!”
Corroded stones pummel my chest and cheek, drawing a pained groan from my stomach.
“Sunday?” The growing urgency in his voice fights against the berating wind.
He’s panicking. I hate it when he panics.
I muster every last bit of my strength to keep my voice from trembling when I answer. “Yes?”
Silence. I start to wonder if he’s still there when his voice breaks against the wind, “Do you trust me?”
“Is that even a question?” I huff.
His lips part in reply.
Oh.
“With my whole heart.” I answer, and god, if that perfect curve of his lips doesn’t already have me falling.
Riven must notice the warmth spreading into my cheeks because he looks away, clearing his throat. “It’s time to let go, Miss Sunday.”
I suck in a ragged breath, my weakened grip straining to do the opposite of just that. Letting go defies every instinct urging me to hold on.
“I’ve got you, Miss Sunday,” Riven soothes, but I can hear it in his voice. It’s now or never.
I take one more deep breath in and reach for the swaying vine.
“That’s it.” Riven nods. “Now climb!”
I hold my breath the whole way up until my stomach is flat on solid ground once more.
“That was…” I shake my head, still trying to catch my breath.
“That,” Riven forces out between a few ragged breaths of his own, “is never going to happen again.”
I roll onto my back, eyes narrowing on how his chest rises and falls in quick succession. If my feet weren’t still dangling over the ledge, I’d think he was the one about to fall from it. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up—
Wait.
“Do the dead breathe?” The question pops out so quickly it startles us both.
I push myself into a seated position beside him. “I’m sorry. I just— do they?” I ask, unable to silence my unbridled curiosity.
A hint of amusement tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You are very much alive, Miss.”
“But you’re not.”
I slap my hand over my lips, desperate to take back the words I’ve let slip.
I did not just say that aloud.
Riven doesn’t move. Doesn’t say a word. And I—I turn away, casting my eyes toward my dirtied feet, too much of a coward to watch the evidence of pain I might have caused.
“I am so sorry. I—”
“It’s okay.” Riven slides his hand close to me and I watch his fingers flex, resisting a life he will never be a part of again. For just a heartbeat I wonder, what might it feel like to meet him in the ever after? To hold his hand in mine?
My arms loosen around my legs, tempted by the notion.
But then his hand falls away, and with it, any illusions of that ever happening. After all, how could it? He’s destined to spend all of eternity haunting the hallways of my home because of a curse I can’t seem to break. And if, by some miracle I do, he’ll be gone. And me? I’ll be—
Late.
“Oh no!” I suck in, leaping to my feet.
“What? What is it?” Riven asks, moving to stand, but I’m already running. This time, more careful of my steps.
Father’s going to kill me.
“The ceremony!” I call out over my shoulder. “I forgot about the ceremony!”
“Oh. Uh, alright. I’ll see you tomorrow then?” he shouts, his voice nearly lost to the wind.
My steps halt at the base of the tower and I turn to face the ghost that unknowingly holds so much of my heart in his hands. I want to say yes. But with every piece of myself I am forced to sacrifice for this curse, I become less and less of the girl he calls friend.
So instead, I simply smile, taking stock of his features for what may very well be the last time before leaving him for the castle. Again.
With no time to ask what Father has planned, I slip into the thin white gown Peony left out for me and work my fingers through my tangled mess of hair.
I don’t even bother looking in the mirror as I pass it on the way into the hall.
The certainty of Father’s disapproval is louder than any hopes I might have deluded myself with.
“Are you ready, my lady?” Rhidland asks, ignoring my disheveled state.
He knows all too well not to ask about my ventures. Makes it easier for him to keep them secret.
“If I say no, could I have five more minutes?”
“My lady…” Rhidland exhales heavily, massaging the bridge of his nose.
“Three! If I could just get three more minutes I could do something with my hair and—”
Rhidland meets my gaze, a silent warning in his expression.
I am well and truly out of time.
My shoulders drop down from where my hopes had dared to climb and I relinquish the breath I had been holding.
“Right then,” I sigh, clutching myself to stave off the chill racing up my spine as I follow him down a dark winding corridor leading to the castle caverns.
His fist is but a breath’s width away from the door when he stops short.
“Would you look at that,” he murmurs, grabbing his silver chest plate with both hands. “I’ve got something on my armor.”
I stare, puzzled, as the burly man rubs at a mark only he can see.
“My apologies, my lady. This should only take a minute.” He winks. Like, actually winks. On purpose.
“Rhidland?” I balk.
“Feel free to tend to your own needs. I should only be a moment more.”
“A moment more with—”
Oh.
He inclines his chin, pretending not to notice the salty pools threatening to run down my cheeks. Pools filled by the generosity he refuses to take credit for.
Stubborn old man.
“Thank you,” I whisper, holding tight to the warmth spreading through my chest. Sixty seconds may not seem like much in the grand scheme of things, but when it’s all a person has to give… “Thank you.”
This time, he meets my watery gaze, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth before he smothers it behind a cough. “Yes, well. You’ve got a leaf.” He gestures toward the poorly brushed mane hanging over my shoulder. “Just there. Wouldn’t want your father to see it.”
I do? “I do.” Huh.
I pull the little blue leaf free and comb my fingers through the dark locks when voices on the other side of the door draw my attention.
“This cannot wait, Oren. This curse has my people stripping in the streets. Their skin rubbed raw from silk threads. Silk. Threads.” I hear King Charming hiss.
“I know.” Father exhales heavily.
“My men are as thin as the women! They’d sooner waste away than eat another rotten meal!”
“Do not speak to me of waste! The very foundation of my kingdom was built on its people’s strength. And we both know the curse took that and then some. There is nowhere I can go in this realm where her face is not evident. Where I am not reminded of the night we…”
Father moves away from the door, taking the rest of his words with him as he moves farther into the chamber. I lean closer, straining to hear them, when I lean a little too far and lose my footing.
“Ah!” I squeak, barely catching myself from colliding with the tall wooden door. That makes twice today I’ve nearly fallen to my doom. Though, I may as well have. The chambers on the other side have grown eerily quiet.
Rhidland and I exchange a knowing look.
The royal council now knows I’m here.
Worse yet, they know I’m eavesdropping.
“Sunday.” Father wields my name as both an order and a warning.
I heed both, offering Rhidland an apologetic half-smile as I push open the door. Given the pointed look on Father’s face as he storms toward us, the old guard is in no less trouble than me.
“Father—”